


Which one of us owns BBC America?

by Empirate



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2619536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empirate/pseuds/Empirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America and Britain have a short conversation after the world meeting in which they discuss <i>Doctor Who</i> and independence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Which one of us owns BBC America?

The day's world meeting had ended, and as usual America had slept through most of it. The parts that didn't involve defense or food, that is. Although he did get suspiciously drowsy when they had started discussing defense _budgets_. Now that the meeting was over, however, America was his usual overenthusiastic and energetic self again, and said force of energy and enthusiasm pressed into human form and a leather bomber jacket was at Britain's side before most of the other nations had risen from their chairs. No one stuck around long after the world meetings, however, and they soon had the room to themselves. 

Britain was finishing writing up the last of his notes when America, who had been frustratedly trying to read over his shoulder, finally snatched the paper out from under Britain's pen, causing him to bungle the word "reciprocity" rather badly. America scanned the papers quickly, shrugged, and handed them back to him, still unsure why the other nations took notes at these things. Although to be fair, America usually relied on Britain to fill him in on any important stuff later. 

"Hey Britain," America said loudly (as he said everything), "d'you wanna go to a bar tonight? I don't have any embarrassing drunk pictures of you on my phone more recent than like, two months ago!"

Britain ignored the comment on his tendency to go a little overboard when it came to beer. "I can't go to the pubs tonight, America, I have work to do." Britain also ignored the urge – and it was a very powerful urge – to tell America to do some of his work as well instead of letting it pile up until the last conceivable moment. Britain could still tell America what to do, but they were long past the time when America actually had to do it. And Britain had decided that he didn't enjoy exercises in futility.

"You're no fun anymore," America pouted.

Britain perked up just a little. "Did you just...make a Monty Python reference?"

America grinned. "If I did, would you go to the  _pubs_ with me?"

"Still no, but nice try," Britain said. "I have to appear before the Queen tomorrow, and if I show up smashed from another night with  _you..._ " Britain shuddered. "She said there would be 'consequences' this time. And I know for a fact that they still keep a few of the old devices from the Inquisition in one of the store rooms in Buckingham Palace."

"Fiiine," America groused. "I'll go drink alone like a lose– Oh, I've been meaning to ask you something! It's really been bugging me, actually. It'll be super quick, I promise."

"Fire away," Britain said resignedly.

"Okay, which one of us owns BBC America?"

Britain scoffed. "I do. It’s the British Broadcasting Corporation. _British_." 

"Yeah, but it has America in the name. _America_."

"It’s got _Doctor Who_ on it. It’s mine."

America rolled his eyes. "Canada’s wearing a _Doctor Who_ shirt today, that doesn’t mean you _own_ him."

"I sort of still own Canada, a bit? Honestly the Commonwealth gets a little confusing," Britain mumbled.   

"...Oh, yeah."

"And _Canada_ ," Britain continued, "is actually aware of geopolitics. And if you had just stayed in my empire, you would be too." 

"Jeez, I’m sorry I dumped some of your precious tea in the Boston Harbor that one time. I thought we’d moved on."

"It was a whole bloody _boatful_ of tea, and really _good_ tea at that— No, it wasn’t about the tea," Britain said, more to remind himself than to inform America. "It was about the symbol. The disrespect to your provider and protector, who saved your arse from France and from your own Native Americans, and kept the other empires from carving you into lucrative little pieces!"

"Okay, you did do all of that," America admitted. "But you also tried to tax my people without representation in Parliament. Total breach of our inalienable rights, dude."

"I tried to tax you _period_. What _minimal_ taxes I _had_ imposed on you, _you_ were _evading_. You weren’t paying _any_ taxes! Besides, you were indirectly represented in Parliament, just as much of England was at the time."

"Yawn," America said. "This all sounds really familiar, Britain. D’ya get the feeling we’ve had this argument before?"

Britain sighed. "I take your point. History is history. We have moved on. You’re independent now, free to pursue all of the happiness you can bloody well stomach." 

"Whoa dude, why the dark mood all of a sudden? Seriously, I thought we'd gotten over this."

"You might have," Britain scowled. "But my history is much longer than yours, and I can't 'get over' things as quickly as you apparently can. At least, not things that were important to me."

"Well yeah, I mean you were important to me too," America said honestly. "And you still are! It's not like I've forgotten that you raised me and made me most of who I am today. But it's better now. We're equals."

"You know you ripped my heart out when you declared independence, don’t you?" Britain said, as if America hadn't spoken.

"What are you talking about? Your heart’s London." 

"Not always. Not all of it," Britain said, looking intently down at his notes without reading a word. "Part of it belonged to you. I really did care about you, America. I just…expected more in return."

"Hey," America said softly (as he said very few things), "I'm sorry I didn't grow up to be the person you tried so hard to make me into. But I'm still your little brother, and that'll never change. It's just part of growing up, I had to spread my wings, like the majestic yet powerful, the beautiful yet fierce bald eagl–mmf!"

Britain clamped his hand firmly over America's mouth. "I don't want to hear another word from you about that bloody bird," he said, but he was suppressing a chuckle rather than a sob. "Come on, lets go to a pub. I need a drink, and damn the 'consequences.' _Oh god_ , I'm sounding more American already." 

He was 98 percent sure it hadn't been a sob.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed my writing, you can commission a story from me here: http://museicbox.tumblr.com/commissions


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